Having had a pretty turbulent week one way or another, I'd hardly given a thought to today's trip until last evening. So, still feeling fairly upbeat after yesterday's job news I set out for a relaxing and fairly simple trip by recent standards. The plan was to finally do some new track - indeed my first this year. It's always going to get harder as I travel more and more around the network I suppose, given that I only really record track at 'Baker' level. I know this will all sound very strange to the uninitiated, but I'm happy to cover stuff to 'Quail' level for some future project too, keeping detailed notes of course. The track in question was the flyover at Ebbsfleet International which takes a spur from High Speed 1 to the North Kent Line, allowing Javelin trains from St Pancras to provide a service to Gravesend and Faversham. This in itself wouldn't provide a day's entertainment, so I'd planned a bit of a circuit and was happy to wander as the mood took me in London. As we headed west towards the capital, the sun began to rise and it appeared to be a perfect day for such travels too. Feelings of uncharacteristic optimism aside, it was a fairly uneventful journey up to London.

With the Circle (or indeed 'tea cup') Line out of action, I headed straight for the bus stop and caught a 205 for St Pancras. London was chilly and the crowd of tourists who'd been bumped off the tube were milling around annoyingly. Burrowed down into my coat and enjoyed the journey east via Marylebone and Euston. Hopped off at the British Library for the short walk into the undercroft of St Pancras via the Underground ticket hall. Initially a bit confused, as my train - the 09:40 to Margate - wasn't shown on the slick new departure board (the only place Luton, Bedford and Paris rub shoulders perhaps?). Soon realised that as there was an Ebbsfleet train as the front six carriages in platform 11, the policy was not to show the rear train until it had gone. A bit odd, as this makes it appear that the train doesn't exist. Perhaps better to show the train without a platform? Time to visit the same excellent food outlet which had provided my first recuperative breakfast after my illness last October, then queue for Starbucks finest. Fully equipped I found a seat on the fairly quiet 395017 and settled in for the ride. After the customary crawl out of St Pancras and into the darkness of the tunnel, I felt the comforting lurch which propels the Javelin to it's top speed. Minutes later, after a brief call at Stratford International, we burst into brilliant Essex sunshine. Slightly concerned about the ticket check after all kinds of discussions about through tickets and routings. My First Advance from Weston-super-Mare to Ramsgate was marked "+AP SLOUGH" which seemed to satisfy the guard.

Once under the Thames and in Kent, noted a great deal of snow lying on the ground. Indeed, there seemed to be a thick carpet as we pressed on south eastwards. However the sun was still shining, and it brought a new interest to this bit of Kent which has always been a bit of a dull run for me. Into Ashford, busy with unfamiliar units, before leaving the High Speed line and continuing on what have become known as the 'Classic Lines'. This meant a switch from overhead to third-rail power too of course. The speed difference was surprisingly noticeable, and we seemed to crawl via Canterbury West into Ramsgate. I've changed trains at Ramsgate before but never strayed from the platform. Decided it was time to wander and emerged from the subway into a cavernous, brick ticket hall with huge Southern Railway crests laid into the end walls. Outdoors there was a layer of thick ice covering the pavements, and a cursory glance at a town map showed the station was some way from civilisation. Elected instead to continue my journey after a coffee and a quick read of the paper whilst secretly listening to two hilarious older ladies discussing the inoculations they'd need for a cruise they were planning.

The next leg of my trip, by classic lines to Faversham took me through Margate and it's suburbs - where I'd originally intended to head in fact. The snow was still thick here, with only parts of the platforms uncovered. The journey felt slow and disjointed as we stopped everywhere along the route, but as we turned west again onto the North Kent coast the snow and ice miraculously disappeared. At Faversham, despite some traces on the platform where the cleared snow had been piled, there was almost none to be seen. Took advantage of my earlier than planned arrival to wander into this town - somewhere I knew only from the labels of Shepherd Neame beer bottles! It was surprisingly easy to find the main street here, and I made gradual progress along Preston Street towards the centre of town. However, something wasn't right here... I could cope with the tide of chavs with their trophy dogs - and even with the flat-capped and Barbour jacketed local dignitaries with their trophy cars and wives. What was troubling me was the singular lack of large chain stores. By the time I reached the end of Preston Street, with the impressive Guildhall to my left, there had been no Subway, no Starbucks, no Costa Coffee... In fact the most daringly 'multiple' Faversham had got so far was a Superdrug and an Iceland. Lots of small, local businesses somehow survived - tea shops, newsagents, bookmakers - and a particularly interesting stationer cum tobbaconist in a fine old overhanging beamed building. Oh - and even more incongruously in this place bereft of modern chain stores was the presence of an apparently thriving Wimpy Bar! I didn't dislike Faversham but it confused and unsettled me. This is testament not only to the town's individuality, but to the ubiquity of the major multinationals who we expect to see in all our town centres now. Still, if it had those stores it would have been uncomfortably like Maidstone - and that's certainly not a good thing!

Back to the station, and onto the next High Speed service along the coast via Chatham and Strood. This took the connection to HS1 at Springhead Junction, and thus the flyover at Ebbsfleet International, with it's separate pair of platforms. Mission accomplished, I headed back into London with time to spare and no plan. The instinct though, was to walk - and I set out from St Pancras eager to explore the lands behind the station where I'd wandered some years back. Then, they'd been a building site in connection with the works to construct HS1 and extend the station. Now, all was tidy and environmental projects filled the open spaces between here and the work to redevelop Kings Cross. Unable to find a decent vantage point for the railway, I took a curving tunnel under the line, emerging near the Coroners Court. A quick side-step here brought me into Old St Pancras Church Yard. Amazingly, this place seemed untouched from a previous visit despite the huge changes which had taken place just feet away. Toured the quiet gardens seeking out the familiar - especially the Soane family monument and always impressive Hardy Tree. Took the very same wrong turn I'd taken years before, and ended up retracing my steps to escape the churchyard. Walked back to the station at a leisurely place with the intention of getting the bus back west.

My next plan was to complete a section of track I'd genuinely no excuse not to have covered, except a lack of need to head that way. I'd used the Hammersmith and City Line west of Paddington once as far as Ladbroke Grove on a mission to find a record shop. It hadn't worked then, and I think I'd in fact walked back to explore the area further. Today I resolved to cover this route, now part of the Circle Line too, to it's terminus at Hammersmith. The route has seen something of an upgrade in status too with the Westfield shopping complex nearby, and the train was busy throughout. Skirting Television Centre, and passing over Portobello Road and Shepherd's Bush markets, the line curved over the western suburbs on a viaduct until a little before the end of the route where it dipped swiftly down into a substantial red brick train shed at Hammersmith. This place had a real old station feel to it, and I lingered a while before settling down for a warm coffee whilst watching the pretty young things of West London going about their business in the freezing afternoon air. Retraced my steps to Paddington feeling old and clumsy, but pleased to have had such a strangely contrasting day exploring. Time to watch the stragglers from the day's various sports fixtures 'interacting' with the Police before a lazy ride home on the 19:00. Having set out with not much of a plan at all, once again I'd let the city guide me and had a better day for it.

The second and final full day of my Winter retreat to Glasgow started with a promise of decent weather - but there wasn't much sunshine to be seen as I stumbled along George Street in order to get to Central Station for the 08:00 departure. The plan was to head west to the coast today - covering as much of the track as possible, though for me there was nothing new. However, I've always this journey and it did seem like too long since I'd covered some of it, so I was happy to tag along for most of the day at least. However, I also had an itch to be abroad in the city again - something that I hadn't really done this visit. I'd wandered a little on the first, practically wasted afternoon after arriving - but I needed to wear my boots out a bit on the pavements again. Time for breakfast at Central Station before snapping the recently arrived 90029 which had hauled the Lowland Sleeper. After stowing the camera away, boarded the Ayr train which was unusually a pair of 318s. Off on time, through Shields Junction and Paisley Gilmour Street, with the sun just coming up as we curved to head south onto the coast. There was just a hint of an orange glow over the Firth of Clyde as we pressed on, making good time into Ayr. Time for a coffee here before heading back the way we came, at least for a while.

I'd calculated we could arrive at Dalry with only a few minutes to wait for an Ardrossan Harbour service. Since the Harbour trains are perhaps the least easy to work into the schedule, felt this was a good idea even though it made getting to Largs difficult this morning. Consulted the fellow traveller who was keen to go with the plan, despite not sharing my romantic vision of railways to port towns, which he just saw as "run down dumps". With a little sun glancing onto the distant isles though, the visit to Ardrossan Harbour was a rather pleasing and quiet few minutes before once more heading back inland. This time as far as Paisley Gilmour Street, where a cross-platform change (via coffee emporium) left us with minutes before the next Gourock service. Managed to completely miss what should have been a fine shot of a freight working which sped past behind us however. Gourock has a decent service of semi-fast and stopping trains, which meant we could hop off at the once impressive terminus to wander around this rather strange corner of the coast. The rather hard-to-please fellow traveller actually rather liked this tumbledown corner of Inverclyde despite it's clear dereliction in places. Wandered briefly before heading back into the station to get the train back as far as Port Glasgow.

Port Glasgow was equally odd - almost a single street with a couple of cross streets. Lined with tired looking shops and sliding down the hillside to the inevitable waterfront where there was evidence of docks and shipyards. Times looked hard, and there couldn't have been much to do around here. From Paisley to Greenock we'd seen endless boarded up housing blocks - some being redeveloped but others just burned and abandoned. Not sorry to return to the station - particularly as the next trip took us to Weymss Bay, surely one of the most remarkable gems on this coast? First though, the unit made short work of the bank at Bogston as the Gourock line fell away steeply to the north. Remembered the fun of doing this with 37s a few years back very fondly. The run to the coast felt no less grim that the Gourock trip, with some genuinely horrible places to live in evidence near the stations we called at. Weymss Bay however was wholly different - the line curving through the platforms under the smooth winding glass roof which all swoops down into the ticket office. There are few more dramatic examples of railway architecture, and it would have been interesting to spend longer here - however, the city called. I left my former travelling companion here to explore as I headed back into Glasgow at last.

On arriving at Central I headed first to Avalanche Records, before going briefly back to the hotel to regroup a little. I felt pretty awful still, yesterday's unsettled stomach developing into a full dose of the bug which had been circulating before I left England. Finally decided that sitting around was something I could do anywhere and dragged my miserable self out into the city. The afternoon had turned a little gloomy and the sky was a grey sheet. I turn east and headed towards the High Street - and thus began a retracing of old steps - cobbled and tumbling Nicholas Street on the old College lands, then south to Saltmarket, before dodging through backstreets to get to Osborne Street and then a pleasant hour spent browsing in Monorail. After that, a somewhat feverish dash back up the High Street to the station, where I headed down into the brick trough to get the next Springburn service. The light was fading from the sky now, and I made a quck change to a Queen Street bound train here, disappearing into the tunnel in twilight and emerging in full darkness it seemed. I found food and headed back to the hotel. It had been a strange and rather bewildering trip, and it was now practically over. Felt a bit guilty for once again dragging someone along with me and abandoning them in favour of the city I can't ever explain properly, but oddly found myself looking forward to tomorrow's epic journey south.

It seemed strange to be waking up in Glasgow. Although I've paid several flying visits during this past twelve months, it's been a full year since I spent any amount of time up here. Once again I'd made the mistake of sharing the city with an unsympathetic soul, and as I gazed out of the window overlooking the burial ground of the Ramshorn Kirk, I reminded myself that it wasn't anyone else's fault that I had a such a strange attitude to the place. Resolved to have an interesting day pottering about the railways and revisiting some of the trips undertaken back in 2007, the inaugural year of these February excursions. My setting out was delayed by needing to get a little work done, but since the Strathclyde 'Daytripper' tickets don't start until 09:00 not much time was lost in the event. So the first move of the day was an Anniesland train via the North Suburban line from Queen Street. Little piles of snow were stacked neatly against the back of the platforms as we passed the stations on route to Anniesland. The train was quiet, and the sun was just breaking through. It promised to be an interesting day.

Without a plan as such, I played things by ear and decided to zig-zag around the city for fun. My travelling companion needed the majority of the track in the city, so there was no conflict of interests here. At Anniesland, onto a Motherwell train via the Argyle Line, which we saw through to it's conclusion - rounding the Hamilton Circle and into the furthest reaches of the odd station. Used the new footbridge to head over to the main concourse for a Cumbernauld service via Mossend Yard. I was feeling a little under the weather to be honest, and suspected missing breakfast wasn't the best idea. Finding the much respected snack bar at Cumbernauld open despite its barricaded appearance, I finally breakfasted - and regretted it for much of the day as the greasy but tasty local morsel sat heavily in my complaining stomach.

From Cumbernauld, back to Queen Street and a walk over to Central Station under slate grey skies which the sun gave a characteristic silver hint. I was happy just to be here, zipping back and forth on trains which I'd done before. Next plan was to head out to Newton and back, covering each side of the Cathcart Circle. A rather quiet trip out, soon arriving at the forlorn outpost at Newton. Found a spot at the end of the station and watched traffic on both the suburban and mainlines. Plenty happening, including the rare sight (nowadays at least) of a 325 unit moving under it's own power. I'd reassured my companion at arms that the wait at Newton would fly by, and sure enough it did and we were soon heading back via the other side of the circle. Time for one last trip before the evening peak began in earnest - a little earlier of course because it was Friday. This last turn of the day was an out and back jaunt to Paisley Canal, passing the depots at Shields and Corkerhill - though little was on them with the busy evening due to start shortly. Back into Central just as the crowds began to gather for the dash homeward.

Later, still feeling a little below par, headed out for Chinese at the Kings House and then walked over to the 13th Note - for me a sacred place of happy evenings just watching the world go by and listening to the best jukebox in all Scotland. Or lurking downstairs while bands, just formed and probably not far off breaking up, tried out their songs in front of a noisy crowd while minor local celebrities handled the door duties. To a fresh pair of southern eyes though, it was a bewildering place - neither pub, nor cafe, nor restaurant - it just did not compute. I asked my colleague what he thought of the place, and he mumbled something about the graffiti in the gents before dashing downstairs again.

That graffiti is of course a little bit of Glasgow history. I'm not sure it was appreciated though. Another strange night in Glasgow I pondered, as I trudged back to the hotel feeling very sluggish and still wishing I'd not bothered with breakfast.

I used to be able to do late nights followed by early starts - but those days had very clearly passed as I stumbled wearily down to the station this morning feeling the effects of a friend's birthday celebration last evening. Today's jaunt was really conceived to plug a gap in what has been a rather strange January schedule - the one event of note falling awkwardly in the middle of the snowy early weeks, and the rest of the time being spent in some rather reflective wanderings around places I'd not seen in some time. Today was more of the same really - heading north and west after a couple of weeks of finding myself eastward bound - taking in Manchester and Liverpool. It was a leisurely enough schedule, and it was good to settle down and enjoy the lazy ride northwards from Bristol. The train stayed fairly quiet as we headed first for The Midlands and then pushed on via Stoke-on-Trent towards Manchester. Just beginning to feel a little more human when I received a message that my cousin was in Manchester having just arrived at Piccadilly too. So my hour in Manchester was spent in a pleasant family catch-up session on the terrace outside the station, drinking coffee to keep warm! Despite the cold, the day was clear and bright and it was good to be out and about watching the city bustle beneath. Not sure my cousin and her intended quite grasped why I was in Manchester or why I'd be heading elsewhere soon - but nonetheless it was good to catch up on unusual territory!

Took my leave and headed onto the through-platforms at Piccadilly via the moving walkway. Despite hating escalators with a searing passion, I have a childish love of their flat, stepless sibling and I enjoyed my little zoom up to the concourse perhaps a bit too much. People were certainly looking at the fat grinning loon who arrived at the top very strangely. Flagged a jammed Northern Trains unit for my Transpennine Express 185. Boarded to find first class jammed with noisy and frankly rude Spanish students. Extricated one from my reserved seat via the international language of pointing at the numbers, gesturing elsewhere in the carriage and looking angry. It worked, but secured me the scowls of the moody group of female students travelling with the former occupier of my seat. Managed to tune out the hissed, Spanish incantations and enjoyed an easy, quiet run via Warrington Central in still brighter weather as we headed for Lime Street.

My earliest memories of Liverpool are from the mid 1990s - the city was waking up from a grim recession and the paralysis inflicted by a corrupt council. It felt good, positive and forward looking. Lots was happening, and a wave of redevelopment was sweeping from the docks into the City Centre, albeit missing some areas of chronic and desperate deprivation on the way. Then, a decade or so later things began to grind to a halt. Even Richard and Judy had deserted the Albert Dock and the regeneration settled uneasily on the city centre, churning out small and poor quality shopping areas which never really seemed to open fully before they'd closed for redesign or refurbishment. So, I was surprised to find, especially in the current climate, that things have slowly begun to move again. I stepped out of Lime Street station, directed to a side exit due to works, and found view much changed. No more greasy spoon cafe, and the parade of shops from the front of the station gone (including the world's coldest second hand bookshop - which is perhaps something of a loss). The station I noticed was standing proud of the street and around it a stepped plaza was developing . The great glass sweep of the roof was suddenly fully visible, and the subtle point of the frontage now clear to see. Lime Street is a stunning station, and it was great to see it being afforded the status it deserves.

Eventually moving on after poking my camera through the fence here and there, I found myself watching a demonstration wind its way into St George's Hall. As my political views have developed and changed over the years, I found my patience for Trade Unions has suffered - but I still love to see the banners and the various public service workers unions gathered here had put on a fine display. Given my interest in this area, I decided to stay and listen to some of the speakers. A fairly high-ranking bunch of union officials had been drafted in to talk to the modest crowd about the looming election and the dark days beyond. The approach varied from simply, heartfelt pleas to protect jobs and services to full-scale assaults on Western capitalism! At one point a tiny woman carrying endless bags shambled across the square. She stopped and turned to the crowd and began to shout back in possibly the loudest Jamaican voice I've ever heard. She pointed out that none of the people up there had done anything to help her and her friends. She also pointed out that no-one speaking or watching the rally was paid as little as her, and that every single one of them was white and middle class. She was spot on in fact, and the fact proved so uncomfortable that a couple of the hi-vis vested organisers persuade the Police to move her on. She didn't go quietly but as the police women who gently escorted her past me said soothingly "You don't have to convince me love, they're a bunch of pompous windbags and you've got it right". It's hard to know whether this was a genuine sentiment or an attempt to calm down the situation, but it hit the nail right on the head this time.

Decided on a brief walk before my journey back, avoiding descending into the crowded city centre which didn't appeal much today. Soon found myself back at Lime Street with the sun streaming through the roof. Settled in for a pleasant hour watching and listening to the station going about its business. I was feeling pretty tired and still a bit fuzzy so it was good to relax here in a spot which has served me well for this purpose over the years. Soon onto 350109 which was waiting to head back to Birmingham via Crewe. Another pleasant, bright journey - but amazed to find how much colder it was in the depths of New Street where the sun can't reach. A quick change onto the 1642 which reverses in the bleak extremity of platform 1a - possibly the coldest part of the station, and a sleepy ride back to Bristol in the warm Voyager. Today was a satisfying return to basics - a wander around the country observing - travelling for the sake of it. As the year gears up and tours and events start getting organised (and probably cancelled at short notice too) I'll end up doing less of this - but perhaps this is something to look forward to in the quiet dark days of Winter?